Second on the Right (29 page)

"James! Help!" she screamed, her fingers
beginning to slip.

James rushed over. Using his shoulder, he
plowed into the boy, knocking him across the deck. Righting
himself, he rushed to grab Eileen's hand just before it slipped off
the railing.

"I have you! Hold on!" James shouted as he
pulled Eileen and little Robbie back on board. Out of the corner of
his eye, he saw the boy coming at him. With his right hand holding
Eileen's, he tried to fend off the attack from the boy. However,
Pan was not aiming to attack James directly.

Pulling out his knife, the boy slashed down
with furious force and severed James' right hand at the wrist. With
a howl, James fell back onto the deck, blood pouring out of his
wound. He wrapped a discarded beach towel tightly around the bloody
stump in order to slow the bleeding.

Crowing triumphantly, the boy grinned broadly
at James, his eyes glowing, with a reddish hue. Putting the knife
away, he knelt down near James, a look of satisfaction settling
over his face.

”Pan, what have you done?” the boy cried out
to some unseen person. “Quiet, Peter.” His head turned to look in
the other direction. “But look what you’ve done!” His head whipped
back around. “I said quiet!” Turning to face James, he finally
answered his question. “The name's Peter Pan. I'll be seeing you
again." Peter leapt into the air and flew into the darkness.

“I’ve done nothing to you! Nothing!” James
cried out in anguish. With his left hand, he clawed his way over to
the stern of the boat, leaning against the railing as he tried to
catch his breath. Looking beyond the rails, he searched the waters
for any sign of Eileen or Robbie. Searing pain shot from his wrist,
up his arm, and across his shoulders. He doubled over in agony,
vomiting from the sheer force of the torment.

Gripping the railing, James searched the seas
again. "Eileen!" he screamed. "Eileen!" he continued to scream,
hoping in his heart she was there, knowing in his mind she was
gone. As his blood pressure waned, James passed out.

A smile crept over her lips. Pan would no
longer be her problem, but
his
. Still, the manipulation
would continue as James, her new star, was shaped into what she
needed: a man of desperation and hatred, a man after revenge.

Just how far would any man go to exact
vengeance? How far would
James
? She knew she needed to push
him. Now, she simply had to wait until the right moment.

Pan had an unnatural hatred for James. In
actuality, James had done nothing to the boy. There was no reason
for the attack. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, the boy’s anger
for James grew. He had found the love of a mother and father so
great they each, in turn, tried to sacrifice his or her own life to
save the life of each other and of their son. She smiled. James was
hated, but by no fault of his own. It would prove easy to pit one
against the other and simply sit back and watch as the boy was
destroyed.

Then the thought hit her,
What if Pan were
to win?
She contemplated for a moment. Captain Robert Benedict.
The smile returned. If she were to introduce him to a certain
youthful legend, perhaps that would give him the necessary
advantage, if need be.
But would it be enough?
She continued
to dwell on this last question. Once again, she would create an
opportunity to motivate the captain.

There was one thing above all else she loved:
control
.

Soft beeps, wisps, and muffled voices echoed
in his ears. Groaning, James moved his head from side to side,
trying to rouse himself. Slowly, he opened his eyes to a brightly
lit, clean, hospital room. He tried to lift his head, but was met
with a wave of nausea. He leaned over the edge of the bed and
vomited. Pain shot through his skull and through his body. His
vision was blurred, but he could make out the shape of someone
standing nearby.

As the fog began to lift, James was beginning
to make sense of the whisperings in the hall.
It’s Eileen’s
husband. She fell overboard. Killed? I think so. They can’t find
her. What about her position? They haven’t posted it yet. I think
they will in a week or two.
The hushed gossip continued on, but
the amount of strength it took to concentrate exhausted him.

"Eileen," he called out, hoarse. He tried to
reach out for her with his right arm. As it came into view, his
eyes widened and his mind received a shock of remembrance. There
before him was the bandaged stump of where his right hand should
have been. Screaming, he realized not only had he lost his right
hand, but his only son, the love of his life, Eileen, and their
unborn child.

"Please. Please help me!" he pleaded with the
nurse. "My wife and son are still out there! I need to go find
them. They need my help!"

"Now, Mr. Benedict, you've been through quite
an ordeal. I need for you to calm down,” the nurse said. "I'm sorry
sir, but they haven’t found your wife and child. Remember? The
police told you this yesterday."

"No! That isn't true. They aren't gone!"
James grabbed her arm, squeezing tight, his fingernails digging
into her arm. His eyes were wild, and he began to rise out of bed.
She tried pushing him back down, but he knocked her out of the way.
"If you won't help, I'll do it myself!" With his teeth, James
yanked out the IV from the back of his left hand, set on leaving.
"She's still alive. They’re both still alive!"

"Sir! Mr. Benedict! Please, sir! Calm down!
The police have searched the area and found nothing." The nurse
shouted. "Sir! Please!”

His screams were too loud and frantic. He
heard her call out for help; a code gray was announced on the
overhead intercom system. James felt the sharp pinch of a needle in
his arm. Within minutes, though he tried to fight it, heaviness
seeped through his body, pulling him into a deep sleep.

Hours later, James re-awoke, with more of a
sense of where he was and what had happened. Rather than cry out in
a panic, he rolled onto his left side and curled into a fetal
position. Hot tears streamed down his face, falling onto his
pillow.

His family was gone. Eileen, his one true
love, was forever wiped from existence. He closed his eyes tightly
as the tears increased from a light stream to a flood. He tried to
suppress the tremendous grief he felt, but the effort merely
created louder bursts of sobs, more violent trembling. Images of
his family flashed in his mind. He had no one here now. The only
family he had left was in England. His brother was out of the
country gone on holiday. His parents had been contacted, but due to
their age and ailing health were unable to make the trip out. As
wave after wave of grief hit him, his tears continued to flow.

Will this ever end? I want it to end,
he thought, holding his head in his left hand, his right arm tucked
around his waist. His body shook uncontrollably. He couldn’t help
but dwell on the events from the night he lost his wife, son, and
unborn daughter.

A nurse came to check on James. She took his
vitals and gave him medication to treat his pain and stave off
infection. She asked how he was doing. He couldn’t answer her
honestly, so remained silent instead. She typed a few notes in his
chart. Asking if he needed anything else but receiving no response,
she left him alone to his thoughts.

A few hours later, a doctor entered the room.
She stood for a moment. James ignored her and continued to stare
out the window. From the corner of his eye, he could see her glance
over his chart on her electronic pad. He knew she was aware he’d
refused to eat anything. Every nurse that entered his room seemed
to harp on him about it. Clearing her throat, the therapist grabbed
a nearby chair and slid it over to the left side of his bed. He
refused to meet her eyes. The only signs of life he showed were the
occasional blink and the rise and fall of his chest with each
breath.

"Mr. Benedict, my name is Dr. Gobran. I'm a
psychologist. Anything we discuss will be held in the strictest of
confidence. Though I can’t do anything for what has happened, I
would like to help you in the healing process. The trauma that has
taken place within your body, not just physically, it’s important
that we address it. You’ve been shocked and overwhelmed which has
created an energy that, if it stays within your body, could cause
some serious problems. This does in no way imply that something is
mentally wrong. This is how the body reacts to such events." Dr.
Gobran sat back in her chair.

After a minute went by, the doctor shifted in
her seat and opened her mouth to say more when James interrupted.
His voice was dark and deep.

The doctor leaned closer to his bedside, "I'm
sorry Mr. Benedict. Was there something you wanted to talk about? I
know it is difficult, dealing with the loss-"

"Get. Out!" he shouted at her, interrupting
her in mid-sentence. His breathing grew rapid.

“Of course, I will give you time. If it’s
okay, I’d like to stop by again," she swiped her finger over the
electronic pad as she turned to leave.

"Get out!" he screamed sitting up in bed, his
eyes raw from crying. Snatching a cup of water nearby, he tossed
it, aiming for the door as the psychologist hurried out. The cup
struck the frame just above her head. Alone again, he sat, crossing
his arms over his knees and burying his head.

"Eileen," he cried, his heart aching with
such grief, it truly felt as if it were broken, bordering on a
heart attack.

Can't this be a dream? Please God, let this
all be a dream. I'll do anything to have them back again.
Anything!

James' recovery continued. He initially
refused food. He had no appetite. After given the option of having
a tube inserted up his nose and down the back of his throat, he
decided it would be best to eat.